


Relapses

by writingandchocolatemilk



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tweek?”</p><p>The house was too clean. He and Tweek left a small amount of clutter, just because they <i>could</i>, and Craig didn’t really mind. But it had been cleaned—recently, poorly but fervently. Craig shut the door behind him, cautiously moving into the kitchen.</p><p>The coffee had been a mistake. Craig needed it for the mornings, and Tweek had insisted it was alright, Craig could have coffee in the house because they <i>could</i>. Now, most of the coffee was either on the floor or in the coffee maker. The other two boxes had probably been drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relapses

“Tweek?”

Craig had forgotten how monotone his voice could be. All day, he was forced to make his words bend and stretch in the most ridiculous inflections, just so other people would feel comfortable. Comfortable. Ha.

“Tweek?”

The house was too clean. He and Tweek left a small amount of clutter, just because they _could_ , and Craig didn’t really mind. But it had been cleaned—recently, poorly but fervently. Craig shut the door behind him, cautiously moving into the kitchen.

The coffee had been a mistake. Craig needed it for the mornings, and Tweek had insisted it was alright, Craig could have coffee in the house because they _could_. Now, most of the coffee was either on the floor or in the coffee maker. The other two boxes had probably been drunk.

Craig threw his briefcase on the table, wandering further into the house. Tweek’s pills had been scattered across the table. Craig gathered them back into their orange container, screwing the lid on and putting the bottle back where he found it. Tweek had trouble counting sometimes, but he forced himself not to see how many of the pills were left.

Upstairs, then.

There, in the bedroom, huddled on the bedspread. Mugs were everywhere, and Tweek was twitching, scratching at his head, staring at the bedspread. Craig watched from the doorway, knocking a rhythm out on the wood.

“What’s wrong, Tweek?”

“Don’t t-talk l-l-l—“

“Okay.” A year of speech therapy, wasted.

“I s-s-nng. I s-s-s—God damnit,” Tweek let out an angry, frustrated yell, hand tugging at his hair. “G-g-g—“

“Clyde? Token? Bebe? Wendy? Stan? Butters—what happened with Butters?”

“C-c-nnn-car.”

“Accident?”

Tweek let out a dull shriek.

Craig sighed, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text to Token. The room was silent, save for Tweeks rapid breathing—the guy was going to cough up a lung. Another shriek, and a half-empty mug of coffee flew by Craig and clattered in the hallway behind him.

“There aren’t any gnomes.”

“ _I-I saw one_!”

His phone buzzed.

“Is Butters okay? Breathe.”

“Out—“ A breath. “The—“ Another. “ _Window_.”

Token’s fervent texts, one after the other, and Craig sighed, walking slowly up to Tweek. The blond man watched Craig like he was a wild animal, half ready to bolt. He was in a bad way. Craig crouched down, ignoring the broken mug he was standing on.

“We need to go to the hospital. You mixed coffee and your pills.”

“I-I-I _know_. C-c-can’t f-f-f—“

“How many?”

Tweek looked up at Craig, face becoming sickeningly blank.

It was always the ride home that was worse. Tweek hid his face in his hands, legs crossed, closing in on himself. Every time Craig braked too hard, Tweek would tense so hard his shoulders would shake.

“I cleaned.”

“I know.”

“I drank all the c-coffee.”

“We had your stomach pumped.”

Tweek shrank more into the seat. “Stan was sobbing. Butters wasn’t moving.”

“They’re fine—“

 “ _He w-wasn’t m-m-moving_.”

Silence.

“I sold my car. I ran home.”

“Okay.”

“Please don’t not drink coffee.”

“Okay.”

“It was only worth a thousand dollars.”

Craig kept the coffee and the mess in the house, and Tweek took the bus. No one knew about Tweek’s slip up, not that they had to. The therapist, Tweek’s parents, Craig’s sister, that was all. Token asked about it a week later, but Craig ignored his text.


End file.
